Through the Eyes of a Soldier
by Artemis1292
Summary: please read author's note! This is the story of Private Jesse Henderson. Yes, it's the classic 'girl in army' story, but you won't find out everything for awhile. I haven't decided what the pairing will be yet read note bad summary good story!
1. Terrible Victory

**Author's Note:** I'm going back and editing this story because of some feedback that I need to bring a bit more notice to Jesse in the next few chapter. This one hasn't been changed much, so I'll at least get the next one up tonight as well. I am looking for a Beta Reader for one or more of my stories, so if you are interested, please contact me. This will probably be a romance, but it is NOT slash. I have 2 questions before I let you read it, 1. Should I kill Caparzo and save Wade, or vice versa? (I am definitely saving Jackson, he's my favorite character, and I don't want them all to live, but I'm having trouble deciding who the survivor should be) and 2. Should the romance be with Jackson or with Reiben? Thanks for reading this extremely long note, and I'll let you get on with the story now!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Saving Private Ryan or any characters other than my OC

* * *

Private Jesse Henderson gazed out upon the long sandy stretch of Omaha Beach. From his vantage point on the slope above the sand, the young private could see transports unloading more supplies, and even more men. Watching the hectic, yet strangely tranquil action, men laughing as they unloaded crates, relieved looks on some faces as their flipping stomachs finally reached dry land, and officers sitting down to eat a sandwich or two, it made his insides squirm.

Not three days ago those very waves that now crashed with a gentle roar onto the wet sand had been dyed red with the blood of the Marines who did not even make it onto the beach.

Henderson had been part of the first wave of Marines to land at Normandy. Some on the ships had called him lucky, he and the others of his company would get to see the action, would be the heroes.

There was nothing heroic about it. A sixth of his company was dead before they could even get out of the landing craft. Cries shattered the air and blood splattered the faces of those in the back as men were mowed down by German machineguns.

Henderson and what was left of the company either leapt or were pushed over the sides of the boat, some getting shot in the water, some drowning when they couldn't relieve themselves of their heavy gear, and some both. Henderson himself had nearly lost his life to the cruel, cold waters of Normandy, luckily a fellow private had hauled him out of the water, unluckily said private had been shot minutes after, and Henderson was once again on his own as he struggled up the bloody beach for some sort of cover.

It had been Hell, plain and simple. Men were moaning and crying for their mothers as they lay writhing on the sand, some missing limbs, others spilling their innards out of their abdomens, the blood flowing in streams to the water, adding more red to the already scarlet sea.

It was utter chaos. Nobody was with their company, and nobody cared. It was whoever was left alive working together to kill the Germans and open the door for the rest of the companies, safely aboard ships far out to sea.

The run up the beach was a disorienting gauntlet of dodging bullets and explosions, and trying to drown out the screams of dying men. Henderson eventually made it to the make-shift wall of sand underneath the German bunker, throwing himself down beside some of the other men.

A man with Captain markings on his helmet was yelling at a communications man while the rest of the men pressed themselves as deeply as they could into the sand for protection. The attempt to contact Command was given up after the radio was destroyed in the same blast that blew the face off of the man trying to use it. The Captain, who a Sergeant was referring to as Captain Miller, was trying to get a count of his men, but with all the chaos it was impossible.

The Captain called for ammunition and a Bangalore was brought to them. They were still going to try to take Dog 1, even without most of their men. While they were attempting to set up the Bangalore, a man beside Henderson had his helmet nicked by a stray bullet. He took his helmet off, and was immediately shot in the forehead.

'Idiot' Henderson thought as he moved the body aside so that he could be of more use.

The call, "Fire in the Hole!" was given and Henderson, as well as the rest of the men ducked and covered themselves from the explosion.

The Bangalore gave them the chance they had been waiting for. At the sergeant's command the men rushed over the sand to the base of the cliff that the bunker was on.

A sudden spray of machinegun fire caused the small group to throw themselves against the concrete wall, Henderson wedged tightly between two others.

The Captain improvised a viewing tool so he could see the opposition without getting his head blown off.

Men were sent out in pairs to try to shoot down the Germans. It was about this time that the Captain finally noticed Henderson.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Private Henderson, Eagle Company, Sir!"

"All right private, what's your position?"

"Scout and sharpshooter, Sir!"

The captain had no time to respond as another blast of fire came from the Germans. The men he was sending out kept getting mowed down. They were getting nowhere.

"Jackson, and you too Henderson."

"Yes sir."

"You see that impact crater?"

"Yes sir."

"It should give you complete cover from that machine gun position, get in there and get me some fire, wait for my command!"

Henderson and Jackson stood and prepared to run to the crater Captain Miller had pointed out to them. From the corner of his eye, Henderson watched as Jackson pulled out a crucifix, kissed it, and then stuffed it back down his shirt.

Captain Miller ran to stand behind the men who were giving the covering fire.

"Go!" he shouted as he took aim.

Henderson and Jackson darted out from behind the wall, running towards the crater. Bullets were hitting the ground all around the two men, throwing up dirt, which gave them enough cover to reach the crater. Henderson immediately aimed his sniper towards one of the nests while Jackson prepared to take out the other. Over the sound of shooting, Henderson could barely make out Jackson's voice as he mumbled a prayer, the Lord's Prayer by the sound of it and peered down his scope. A squeeze of the trigger and a German was dead. Henderson carefully lined up his rifle and the head of another German soldier, another shot, and another German down. Now Jackson turned his sights on the sandbag bunker at the top of the hill, shooting again and destroying it while Henderson picked off the remaining Nazi.

Jackson and Henderson quickly rejoined the squad of men as they rushed up the slope to the main bunker shooting Germans and taking cover in trenches while shots and explosions rang out.

Long minutes later and the Germans were either dead or surrendered. They had achieved a victory, but at a terrible price.

Henderson remembered, after the shooting stopped, looking over the beach, from the same spot he was in today, and seeing the red water, the bodies strewn over the long beach, some submerged in the water, and the screams of the wounded as the Medics tried to get to them. It was a sight that would be imprinted into his memory for the rest of his life, however short that would be.

The men who had arrived later had praised the survivors as the heroes of Normandy, but that wasn't true. The real heroes were the men who had died taking the beach.

* * *

TBC


	2. A Curious Mission

**A/N: **I'm going back and revising some of the chapters since it's been pointed out that Jesse needs more action. this one doesn't have many changes though.**  
**

**Disclaimer:** Once again, I only own my character and most likely anything you don't recognize.

**Warning: **there is language in this chapter, I'm following the script as closely as I can in some areas, so you've been warned!

**Chapter 2- A Curious Mission**

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* * *

**

Three full days after the mess that was D-day, Private Henderson was once again sitting up on the slope above the beach. It was almost noon, though you wouldn't think it after looking at the sky. It always seemed to be the same dreary, somber weather, the perfect mood for the place where hundreds of men were killed and wounded.

Henderson leaned back further into the firm ground that was supporting him. He rested his head against the embankment and stared up at the moody sky, a few locks of mahogany hair falling into his eyes, finally free from the confines of the heavy, metal helmet, which now rested on the ground beside him.

The sounds of screaming men and whizzing bullets still rang clear in the ears of the young Private, mixing with the continuous roar of the surf, coming together into one terrible symphony. Henderson shut his eyes in an attempt to escape from the noise, when the sudden sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the concert of death.

Upon opening his eyes, Henderson found himself looking at the Captain he had tagged along with after arriving at the beach, Captain Miller.

"You there, Henderson." Miller began as he finally reached the Private.

"Yes sir?" The required response of a lower rank as well as a question came in reply.

"Well, first of all, you might want to think about a haircut son." Miller grinned slightly as the younger man sheepishly pulled one of the dark locks between his thumb and forefinger. The Captain then sighed before crouching and continuing.

"There's a reason I wanted to speak with you today, aside from telling you to go find yourself a barber. I've been assigned a mission. A select few from my company, and myself, have been ordered to go deeper into France to search for, and find, a certain individual, a paratrooper, who has a ticket out of here. Now, I know that you're not from my company, but you've got some skills with a gun that we might need out there. It will be dangerous, and you are not being ordered to go, but I'd like you on my team."

"All right, Captain, I'll go with you on this mission of yours." The Private said after a few minutes of pondering.

Captain Miller looked somewhat surprised.

"Sir?"

"You will? Just like that, no needing persuading?"

"No sir," the Private explained, staring back out at the turbulent waters below, "Most of my own company was wiped out, sir. Besides, as you said, I've got some talent with a gun, I reckon there's no need to waste it here sitting around when it might come in handy somewhere else."

"Very well Private, walk back with me and you can get acquainted with the rest of the men before we head out."

* * *

As Henderson walked further inland with Captain Miller they were met by another man around the Captain's age, who was introduced as Sergeant Michael Horvath.

"Private Jesse Henderson." Henderson replied with a nod towards the older man.

"Oh, you're the little bastard with the good shot." The sergeant said gruffly, taking another look at the slender boy beside him. "How old are you anyway, didn't know they were lettin' kids into the army these days."

"Give him a break, Mike," Miller cut in, "he might be small but he sure as hell is a great shot, he could probably rival Jackson."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember from the other day."

The odd trio was silent for a few moments; the crunching of their boots on the sandy ground and the random shouts from surrounding companies breaking the tense silence.

"That's why I want him on the mission."

"What mission?"

Henderson realized Miller must have come straight to him after receiving his orders, if even his obviously close friend didn't know about it.

"You and I are taking a squad over the Neuville on a Public Relations mission."

"A Captain leading a squad?"

"Some Private in the 101st lost three brothers and he's got a ticket home."

"How come Neuville?"

"They think he's up there somewhere, part of all those airborne miss drops."

"It's not gonna be easy finding one particular soldier in the middle of this God damned war."

"Like looking for a needle in a stack of needles."

"Well what about the company?"

"We take the pick of the litter and the rest get folded into Baker."

"Jesus Christ, they took away your company?"

"It wasn't my company, it was the army's. That's what they told me anyway. Aside from Henderson we'll take Reiban on BAR, Jackson, Wade, Beasely, and Caparzo."

"Beasely's dead."

"All right, Mellish, then. We got anybody who speaks French?"

"Not that I know of."

"What about you, Henderson?"

"Sorry, sir."

"All right, I gotta go try to dig up an interpreter, just meet me at Battalion motor pool, or the beach."

Miller turned back in the direction they had come from while Horvath began commanding the men who were sitting around them.

* * *

Early the next morning, though, once again it was impossible to differentiate by looking at the sky, the squad of nine set out deeper into the French countryside, heading towards the town of Neuville.

Henderson had been introduced to the other men the previous afternoon, but for the most part they ignored him and the other unfortunate newcomer, a peevish corporal.

Henderson was the rear guard for the patrol, meaning he was responsible for the squad's safety from the rear. This also meant that he had to pay attention more to the area behind them than in front so he couldn't talk to any of the other men, if he had wanted to.

Nearest to the young marksman was the aforementioned corporal. His name was Timothy E. Upham, a Technician, 5th grade; he was a cartographer and interpreter, which was why he was along in the first place. He was small and awkward, and didn't seem to be a very good soldier. Henderson watched him out of the corner of his eye, there was no way this little upstart had been in the first wave, he wouldn't have made it out of the launch crafts, not to mention up to the beach.

Next came Mellish, also not a first choice of the Captain. Private Stanley Mellish was a nervous looking man who was always watching the surrounding area, and didn't seem to like the two newcomers very much, though he seemed to have an almost begrudging tolerance for Henderson after seeing him shoot. Henderson couldn't place his accent, but after being on the receiving end of snide looks and glances, didn't think he was going to ask.

After the snappy Private came Caparzo. Private Adrian Caparzo, a rifleman. He was a large, strapping man, who gave off a tough guy attitude, but had a soft look in his eyes that belied a kinder nature, not that'd he show it in front of the other men. Caparzo also didn't seem to be much of a quiet man. He liked to talk, and make fun of the newbies. Henderson had already been on the receiving end of some of these insults, especially about his size. The large man dwarfed the other, both in stature and brawn. Where Caparzo was tall and muscular, Henderson was shorter, only coming to about 5'7", perhaps 5'8", and was very slight.

Beside Caparzo was the friendliest of the group. Techincian 4th class, Irwin Wade, was a medic. Perhaps that was why he was quieter and more open than the others, or perhaps it was merely his nature. At any rate, he was the only one who would indulge Upham in brief conversations, and the only one who would try to engage Henderson in one. He had a soft, kind voice, much like his personality, though Henderson knew from the beach that he was a very determined medic, and if you were injured there was no saying "no" to his treating you. He also seemed to have a protective attitude towards the members of the squad.

In front of Wade was Jackson. Private Daniel Jackson was a marksman, and a bit of an enigma to Henderson. He was silent most of the time, but when he did speak it was very obvious that he came from the South. Jackson was one of the few people that could match, or perhaps even best Henderson at shooting. Also, his habit of muttering Scripture while he took his shots interested the younger sharpshooter. He was obviously a very devout Christian, perhaps even a Catholic if the crucifix that hung next to his dog tags was any indication. Strange that such a committed Christian should seem to have no trouble sleeping after such a bloody battle. The night before he had been the first asleep, unconscious the moment his head touched the ground. At any rate, Henderson was very curious about the sharp-eyed marksman.

After Jackson came Mike Horvath, the tough as nails Technical Sergeant who was second in command during their little endeavor. He and the Captain were very close, and had obviously been through a lot together. He was a no nonsense kind of guy with an almost non-existent sense of humor, unless it was when the Captain was putting Reiban in his place. Henderson got the feeling he wasn't someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of.

In the very front of the line was Reiban. Richard Reiban, Private First Class, and BAR gunner to boot. He was loud, cocky, full of himself kind of guy, going on about one thing or another in his Brooklyn accent. He seemed to enjoy ribbing the Captain who always had a good answer as the banter continued back in fourth at peaceful times during the day.

And last but certainly not least was the Captain. Captain John H. Miller was a man that Henderson immediately felt an immense amount of respect towards. He seemed like an easy-going man, though he was definitely someone you could rely on in a tough situation. He was good-natured and obviously looked after the well being of his men. He was obviously very close to all of his men, knowing them well, and teasing some of them, especially Reiban, with witty answers to their discussions. Captain Miller was a man that Henderson was glad to serve under.

* * *

Mellish's sudden growl at Upham snapped Henderson out of his musings.

"Hey, you want your head blown off, you fancy little fuck? Don't you ever fuckin touch me with those little rat claws again. Get the fuck back in formation."

"Just wondering where you're from." Upham muttered before moving up the line. "Caparzo?"

"Hey, drop dead, Corporal."

"Gotcha." Upham muttered again, seeming to shrink as far into his BDU as possible.

"And another thing. Everytime you salute the captain, you make him a target for the Germans. So do us a favor, don't do it. Especially when I'm standing next to him. Capice?"

"K, capice."

"Corporal, what's your book about? Hey, watch it with the assault rifles." Wade interjected before warning him about swinging his gun around.

"Actually, it's supposed to be about the bonds of brotherhood that develop between soldiers during war." There were several snorts in response to his comment, and Henderson couldn't help rolling his eyes. The guy just didn't have a clue.

"What do you know about brotherhood? Get a load of this guy fish! Why don't you ask the captain where he's from?" Caparzo butted back in with a barking laugh.

"Yeah ask the captain. He'll tell you everything you wanna know about him." This was Mellish again, sharing his laugh with Caparzo.

Meanwhile, up in the front of the line, Reiban was once again at it with the Captain, this time the topic was the mission they had been assigned.

"You wanna explain the math of this to me? I mean where's the sense in risking the live of the eight of us to save one guy?"

"Anybody want to answer that?" Miller asked the rest of the squad.

"Reiben, think about the poor bastards mother." Of course, Wade with the most emotional response you'd get from the group.

"Hey doc, I've got a mother alright? I mean, you've got a mother, sarge has got a mother, I mean shit, I bet even the captain has got a mother. Well maybe not the captain, but the rest of us got mothers."

"It's not to reason why, it's but to do and die." Upham's answer was the creed from the manual, if there was one.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Corporal? Huh? We're all supposed to die? Is that it?"

"Uphams talking about our duties as soldiers. We all have orders we have to follow and that supercedes everything including your mothers."

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

"Even if you think the mission's fubar sir?" Reiban, once again trying to get in another word.

"Especially if you think the mission's fubar."

"What's fubar?" And cue for Upham's next stupide comment, Henderson continuing the silent commentary in his head would have grinned, if he had not already become used to Upham's downright stupidity and ignorance.

"Sir? May I have an opinion on this matter?" Jackson's strong Southern accent picking up from over Mellish and Upham's ending conversation.

"By all means, share it with the squad."

"Well in my way of thinking sir, this entire mission is a serious misallocation of valuable military resources."

"Ah, go on."

"Well it seems to me sir, that God gave me a special gift. Made me a fine instrument of warfare."

"Reiben, pay attention. Now this is the way to gripe. Continue Jackson."

"If you was to put me and this here sniper rifle anywhere up to and including one mile of Adolf Hitler with a clear line of sight sir, pack your bags fellas. Wars over. Amen."

"Well that's brilliant bumpkin. Hey so captain, what about you? I mean, you don't gripe at all?"

"I don't gripe to you Reiben. I'm a captain. There's a chain of command. The gripes go up, not down. Always up. You gripe to me, I gripe to my superior officer so on, so on, and so on. I don't gripe to you. I don't gripe in front of you. You should know that, you're the ranger."

"Well sorry sir, but ah let's say you weren't a captain or maybe I was a major. What would you say then?"

"Well in that case, I say this is an excellent mission sir, with an extremely valuable objective sir, worthy of my best efforts sir. Moreover I feel heart felt sorrow for the mother of Private James Ryan and am willing to lay down my life and the lives of my men, especially you Reiben, to ease her suffering."

"He's good."

"I love him."

* * *

Henderson actually did let a smile come across his face after this conversation, especially with Mellish and Caparzo's comments at the end. He looked up, meeting Wade's gaze as the friendly medic smiled back at him, seeming to be glad to see him finally smiling.

Perhaps they would come together as a squad by the end of the mission, or develop 'bonds of brotherhood' or whatever Upham had been babbling about. Maybe, he thought a bit more grimly, if they survived it.


	3. Unhappy Days

**Author's Note:** Once again, not much had to be changed, just some grammatical errors and such. The next few chapters should be finished tomorrow and the next day if I have time, and then I'll finish the new chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Saving Private Ryan

* * *

The next few days had passed in the same manner; the bickering amongst the men, Mellish, Caparzo, and Reiban giving a hard time to the 'new guys', and general complaining about a certain 'little fuck', as he was affectionately called by the squad, named Ryan.

Once again the day had begun with the usual overcast sky, though it seemed that the gloomy French heavens were finally ready to unleash the water held by the unending bank of dark clouds. Henderson spared a quick glance up at the clouds, he wasn't an expert on weather, but he sure as hell thought they would burst today. It was fitting, he supposed, in a way. Today they would finally reach Neuville, hopefully find this guy, Ryan, and be heading back towards the coast to meet up with the main force.

The squad was about a mile out of Neuville when the rain was finally released, drenching the tired men with cold water as they ran towards the village, their combats splashing through water and mud filled ruts. Shouting and gunshots could be heard over the steady drumming of rain hitting the ground and the metal helmets worn by the squad.

Finally reaching the outskirts of the all but destroyed village, Henderson found himself crouching in the rubble, behind what was left of the gates alongside Wade, Upham, the Sarge, and the Captain.

A small group of men ran by the opening, causing the squad to tense up and the Captain to shout the first part of an identification phrase.

"Thunder!"

"Flash!" The appropriate answer eased the tension amongst the men before it was back to business once more as Miller began issuing orders.

"Upham, over there. Reiban, you four go."

"Go, go, go, go!"

Reiban, Jackson, Caparzo and Mellish darted out from behind the gate, running to the side of a building across the street.

Henderson and the rest of the squad waited for a moment before running forward in a different direction, meeting up with another small group of American soldiers who were taking cover amidst the rubble.

"You guys are a sight for sore eyes." one of the soldiers, who appeared to be in charge, commented as Miller's squad reached them.

"Sergeant Hill, our relief showed up." Another said, addressing the former man.

"How many are you?" Hill asked as they huddled behind what looked to be a large wagon wheel.

"Just nine of us. We're not your relief, sorry."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"We're here for a Private Ryan."

"Who? Ryan? What for?"

"Is he here?"

"Well I don't know. Maybe with a mixed unit on the other side of town. It's hard to get to. The Germans punched a hole in our center a few hours ago. They cut us right in two. What's his name again?"

"Ryan. James Ryan. He dropped in with the hundred and first."

"Goldman, get me a runner up here!" Hill called to one of the soldiers in his command as he turned back to Miller.

"Runner!"

After Goldman's shout Hill and some of the squadron, including Henderson, ran to the next section of barricades, Miller and Hill still discussing the situation.

"We got stopped by some intense rifle actions from the eastward. The Germans have been reinforcing two regiments all day. The streets have been quiet for about forty-five minutes now. Most of the Germans fire now is concentrated to the westward."

The droning of a loud speaker, blaring nonsense about the 'glorious Third Reich and the fall of America' interrupted their talk once again.

"Who's that on the loud speaker?"

"That? That's Dagwood Dusseldorf, our friendly neighborhood morale officer."

"The statue of liberty is kaput. That's disconcerting." Miller commented with his usual sardonic humor after hearing the German continuing with his false facts.

"Your father was circumcised by my rabbi you prick!" Mellish suddenly yelled out from where he was sitting beside a demolished wagon, causing a few chuckles among the men who had heard him. Henderson raised an eyebrow at this, not about the comment itself, but he had not realized Mellish was Jewish until then. Many things were suddenly explained, many, many, things.

Beside Mellish, Caparzo had begun picking through a pile of what looked to be potatoes on the ground beside him, occasionally taking a bite and spitting the piece out, before he got up and ran over to crouch behind Miller.

Abrubtly a new round of shooting began.

"Get those fucking animals!" Caparzo yelled, sticking his head up before being pulled back down by Miller.

"They know we're not in direct contact. They're gonna single out the runners." Hill explained to Miller after the Nazi's had downed the runner.

"Yeah well why do they keep shooting him up like that?"

"As long as his lungs got breath in them he still carries the message. We'd do the same thing." Miller said, looking back at Caparzo.

"No we wouldn't!"

"Wade! Get him ready to travel!" Miller shouted over Caparzo.

"Yes sir." The medic said moving away from his former position next to Henderson.

"Boyd! Try again. See if you can let Captain Hamill know we're coming." Hill called to his communications man.

"What's the rest of Neuville look like?" Miller asked the sergeant as Boyde tried, without success, to get a hold of the commanding officer on the other side of the village.

"Ah, next block got two story buildings both sides of the street. There's a lot of windows and then there's a wide open square with pretty good covering on the left."

"Show me. Sarge? Hold right here."

"Yes sir!"

"All right. We can stay out of this safely if we use the buildings. Try a left hook. Shoot and scoot. Two of yours, two of mine."

"Hastings! Goldman! Up front!"

Captain Miller motioned for the rest of the squad to meet up with him.

"Reiben, Caparzo. Fundamentals. Short runs. High and low at the corners. It's gonna be tight. Be prepared for close contact. Go. Upham! You stay with Sergeant Horvath."

The squad, save for Horvath and Upham who was clutching the Sergeant like a frightened woman, moved out.

"Hey right here! I'll wear him like underwear Captain! Stay with me."

The men moved quickly and quietly through the debris-strewn streets until Hill crouched and began talking to Miller again.

"All right. That's the end of the block. To the left, those are the gates of the square."

"Good."

As Captain Miller and Hill were talking, Upham eased his way up to Reiban.

"Reiben, where's the captain from?"

"You can get that one out, you can get yourself a nice prize."

"Three-hundred bucks last I heard." Jackson added as he walked past.

"Three hundred, just to find out where the guy lives?" Henderson asked incredulously.

"Company's got a pool. Five bucks gets ya in." Mellish continued the conversation as he followed Jackson.

The troop finally reached the corner near the courtyard, the area separating them from their comrades.

"Around this corner, defelate right up to those gates." Miller commanded before moving on once more.

"Somebody must know where he's from or what he did for a living." Upham persisted in his pushing, trying to figure the Captain out.

"I've been with him since Kasserine Pass. I don't have a clue." Horvath said while getting up, finally joining the conversation.

Hill began complaining as they made it around another building. "My toes are killing me. I'm gonna need a wheelchair before this war is over. Oh that's it. Oh yeah. I got ankles like an old woman. Like an old-ow!"

Up ahead, Upham was still trying to get information on the Captain. "Reiben, so you know where he went to school?"

"The captain didn't go to school. They assembled him at O.C.S. outta spare body parts and dead G.I.'s."

"You better pay attention to detail. Know exactly where he's from and exactly what he did. I pay attention to detail." Caparzo added, hiding a smirk behind his grim face.

"Hey Upham! Careful you don't step in the bullshit!" Henderson snorted at Jackson's comment as the Southern marksman passed him.

The small troop of Americans ran up to a hole blasted through the courtyard wall.

Suddenly movement was heard on the other side of the stonework.

"Thunder! Thunder or we will fire on you!"

" Upham tell them to show themselves." Miller ordered as a man shouting in French was heard above the noise of the rain.

The small squad, plus some of Hill's men ran through the ragged opening and took cover in yet more piles of debris as they come into visual contact with a small French family standing in the remains of a bombed building.

"Ask them if they know where the Germans are." Miller growled out as Upham once more began yelling in French.

The Frenchy was apparently ignoring Miller's question as he turned around and picked his daughter up.

"He wants us to take the children." Upham translated for the Captain.

"No no no. We can't take the kids. We can't take the kids. We can't."

Between the Captain, Upham, the Frenchman, and the little girl, Henderson was surprised that the Germans hadn't borne down on them yet, with all the racket. Caparzo suddenly ran up the debris pile and grabbed hold of the screaming child as her father lowered her down.

"Are you nuts? Listen to the captain!" Horvath shouted at the man as he held the girl.

"Caparzo! Put that kid back! Caparzo put that little girl back! Caparzo! Put that kid back now!"

Caparzo headed back down the pile of debris, still holding the girl with one arm.

"Upham, how do you say it's okay? I can't. She reminds me of my niece sir."

"Caparzo get that kid back up there!"

"Captain the decent thing to do is at least to take her down the road to the next town."

"We're not here to do the decent thing. We're here to follow fuckin orders!" Miller yelled at the man as he took the kid from him. "Sarge, take this goddamn kid! COVER!" Miller's orders ended with a shout for cover as the sound of a bullet tore through the noise of the squabbling men.

Chaos turned into a nightmare. The little girl was screaming, everyone was shouting, "Cover!" while trying to find a good place to hide from the enemy, and Caparzo was lying sprawled out in the middle of the muddy street, blood streaming from the wound and spreading with the water that covered the ground.

"Goddamnit where'd that come from?" Reiban yelled as Jackson pulled Upham over to the car where Horvath and Miller were sitting with the girl, who was still crying. Henderson followed the two, stopping between Jackson and the girl.

"He was on the ground before we heard the shot!" Jackson shouted, moving up to crouch beside Miller. "That's where I'd be." He muttered, eyeing a tower on the far side of the square.

"I didn't see it." Miller said, looking back at the marksman.

"450 yards cap'n, maybe a shade under. I wouldn't venture out there fellas! That snipers got talent!" The last part had been said loud for the rest of the men to hear as he readied his rifle.

The French couple were yelling for their daughter who was still crying for them.

"I'm gonna get you back to your mama and papa. Please don't cry." Horvath said quietly, trying to console the weeping girl.

Miller nodded his head at Jackson and the Southerner began creeping around the back of the car to see if he could pinpoint the enemy sniper.

"Henderson, you follow him and give him cover if he needs it." Miller added, motioning for the younger man to follow.

The two snipers crept to the opposite side of the vehicle. Caparzo was still in plain view, just lying there in the middle of the lonely road as water and mud mixed with the thick red liquid that still poured from his wound.

"Capn." The downed man said in an almost urgent voice.

"Hold on Caparzo." Miller answered him quietly, trying to not let the German know his whereabouts.

"Help me up. I can-I can walk." Henderson tried not to look at his fallen comrade. The injured man didn't seem to realize that by moving he was loosing more blood, in addition to making himself a target for the sniper.

"Caparzo stay still!" Wade yelled, trying to make his friend stop moving.

"Two clicks...leftward." Henderson could here Jackson muttering to himself as he adjusted his scope.

"Capn! Can you see him from there? How is he?" Wade was starting to sound desperate, not a good sign as it tended to come right before he did something foolish, like rushing into the open to try to save another soldier.

"Wade you stay put." Miller commanded, already knowing what his medic was most likely contemplating.

"Where's he shot captain? Captain can you see him from there?"

"You stay there."

"Damnit stay down. What's the matter with you? You can take care of you if you get hit? Huh?" Hill yelled at the young medic, hauling back down after he tried to run out to Caparzo.

"Guys come over here." Caparzo wheezed, not comprehending that he would be endangering that rest of the men if they did as he asked.

"Carpi put your head down. I can't, now put your head down." Mellish whispered to him in a slightly strangled sounding voice, not that Henderson could blame him; he and Caparzo were good friends.

"Oh my God, I trust in thee. Let me not be ashamed. Let not my enemies triumph over me." Henderson could barely hear Jackson muttering a prayer as he leaned against a pile of rubble, searching for the man who had shot Caparzo.

"Copy it...copy it." Caparzo was now struggling to talk, holding up a piece of paper, a death letter.

"Carpi your gonna send it yourself, put it down. I see it, Carpi I see it." Mellish was still trying to get his friend to lay still.

In front of Henderson, Jackson had gone very still, and then, with a sudden squeeze of a trigger, one bullet was fired. One bullet was all it took.

"We got em. Stay down." Mellish said sounding relieved.

Jackson, Henderson, and the rest of the men rushed out from where they had been taking cover. Wade immediately was upon Caparzo, searching for signs of life as the man had stopped moving while Jackson was shooting the sniper. It was too late. They had known, deep down, when he had stopped talking, that he was dead. Now they were all crowded around his prone form, letting the rain soak through their clothes as the watched Wade pull out a blanket to cover the body with. The body, just thinking it was strange to Henderson. This was almost worse than the destruction at the beach. Then it had merely been nameless allies, all striving to survive the way to the top of the sandy dunes. Now it was a man he had come to know personally. Though Caparzo had been the worst about teasing him, Henderson held a twisted sense of respect for the older man who, though he had a tough exterior, also had a softer side, something that had gotten him killed today. How many more of the small troop would share Caparzo's fate?

"That's why we can't take children." Miller said shortly, as he reached down for one of Caparzo's tags. "Sergeant Horvath, do an ammo check. Upham... canteens. Fill em up."

While he spoke Wade reached down slowly and pried the letter from Caparzo's frozen fingers.

"Sergeant Hill, grab your men. We'll form over the northwest corner of the square. Jackson!"

"Sir!"

"Mellish, check the tower. Hustle back here. Right now, go!"

The two ran off to do as ordered while the rest of the company departed from their previous positions around Caparzo.

"Fuck Ryan." Reiban muttered bitterly before turning and following the rest of the company.

The troop of Americans continued picking their way through the torn-apart-village that was Neuville.

Sergeant Hill suddenly paused just after peering around the corner of a building,

"Thunder!"

"Flash! Come' on in!" came a friendly call from inside.

Instead of going inside, Hill stopped outside one of the broken windows, conversing briefly with the men inside about the whereabouts of his commanding officer.

"Hey guys. We're looking for Captain Hamill."

"Somewhere down there across the square."

"Across the square." Hill said, nodding to Captain Miller.

"Go easy. Watch for snipers." The soldiers inside called as a warning as they prepared to leave.

Hill motioned for one of his men as the squad entered a boxed in area.

"Jimmy T., go find Captain Hamill. Bring him in here."

"What, up there?" The boy asked, gesturing to a wooden staircase that ran along the side of the building.

"How the hell should I know? Would you just go look please? Thank you, you moron. All right, you guys just hike out here for a while. I can get this goddamn hitchhiker out of my boot."

With that, the sergeant leant back against a piece of wood, which then fell over, effectively bringing down the unstable wall behind him and revealing a room full of Nazis. This new surprise caused a split second of shocked silence for both sides before the yelling started up, along with guns being aimed at both groups.

"Drop, drop, drop em!" Mellish's yells were mixed in with the shouts of all the other men.

"DROP EM NOW!" Jackson's hoarse shout also adding to the din. As both groups of men continued shouting and pointing their guns at each other.

And then suddenly, with a burst of gunfire from behind Miller's squad, the Germans were mowed down and silence was restored, only to be broken by a new voice.

"Clear up!"

"Clear up!" The shout came again after the slightly shell-shocked soldiers below failed to answer.

"Clear down!" Hill finally managed.

"Enough to make ya old." Horvath muttered dryly after checking some of the bodies.

"Let's hope so." Miller answered, sounding slightly out of breath.

"DeWayne Hamill, Pathfinders. One hundred and first." The man who had spoken before came down the stairs and introduced himself to Miller.

"John Miller. Second Rangers. Thank you. We're here looking for a Private James Ryan. He's part of your outfit. Any chance at all you've policed him up?"

Later that day the rain had finally stopped and, miracle of all miracles, the sun had finally come out.

Captain Hamill led Miller and his squad through the remains of Neuville, luckily they ran into no more German opposition as they reached the more heavily secured area.

"How was the road in?" Hamill asked as they reached the rest of his men.

"Scenic. We lost most of our ammo."

"Not to mention one of our men." Horvath added as he walked abreast of the two captains.

"Lieutenant, re-deploy that bazooka to the right side of the road." Hamill called to one of his men.

"Yes sir."

"And get Ryan up here."

"Ryan! Ryan, front and center."

"Here comes our boy." Reiban muttered to Horvath as a tall, gangly fellow ran up to them.

"Told you he was an asshole." Reiban continued as Ryan passed.

"Sir. Private Ryan reporting as ordered."

"At ease. Captain Miller. Second Rangers. He wants a word with you."

"This way, uhm, take a knee. Private, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Well there isn't any real easy way to say this so, ah, so I'll just say it. Your brothers are dead. We have orders to come get you...cuz you're going home."

"Oh my God, my brothers are dead. I was going to take a picture when I got home."

Henderson and the rest of the squad looked on awkwardly as the Private they had been looking for broke down and began crying.

"I'm so sorry, James." Hamill said quietly, trying to comfort the sobbing Private.

"How, how did they die?"

"They were killed in action."

"That can't be. It can't be; my brothers are still in grammar school." Everything froze at that one, simple statement.

"You're James Ryan."

"Yeah."

"James Francis Ryan from Iowa."

"James Frederick Ryan, Minnesota."

The squad looked at each other and got up, preparing to move out again.

"Well, well does that mean my brothers are okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure they're fine." Miller said as he rose from his seated position, obviously not happy with this unpleasant turn of events.

"Are you sure that they're okay? I..."

"We're looking for a different Private Ryan. This is just a big foul up."

"How do you know? How can you be sure? How do you know that the foul up isn't that his brothers are okay?"

"Lieutenant, I'm sorry for the trouble."

"I just wrote them a letter before I left. I've gotta get home. I've gotta get home right now. I wanna go home." The men watched as Ryan continued to blubber about his brothers.

"So where in the hell is our Ryan?" Horvath asked, meeting back up with Captain Miller.

"I don't know. Are you in touch with your C.O.?" Miller asked Hamill. "Yeah, figures." He said, as the man shook his head 'no'.

"What unit is your Ryan in?"

"Baker Company. Five oh six."

"The guy with the broken foot, he's five oh six right?" Hamill asked, turning to Hill.

"Yeah, Charlie I think."

Henderson and the rest of the squad followed Hamill to where some of the injured men were being treated, eventually stopping in front of a man who was getting his foot wrapped.

"I...don't know. Man!" Charlie's answer to Miller's question ended with an exclamation as the bandage was wrapped too tight.

"Where was your drop zone?"

"Just inside of Vierville."

"Vierville? How the hell did you end up way up here?"

"You got me, sir. C-47 took heavy fire. Pilot went crazy trying to get out of there, turned every which way. Took more fire on the drop. Got messy, I ended up here. I haven't seen a single guy from my stick, sir. God knows where they are."

"Anybody from Baker Company have like a big mouth, talk about where the drop zone might have been?" Miller pressed, trying to find out where in the French countryside Ryan might possibly be.

"No sir, but I know Baker Company had the same rally point as us."

"Show me." Miller directed, handing the man a map.

"My men are beat. We're gonna hold up here about three hours and pull out after dark. Got anything left in this town like a three star hotel? Something with clean sheets and soft pillows and room service?"

"How about a nice comfy church?"

"I'll take that."

"What have you heard? How is it all falling together?"

"Well we got the beachheads secure. Problem is, Monty's takin his time movin on Caen. We can't pull out till he's ready...so."

"That guy's overrated."

"More him than here."

"Gotta take Caen so you can take St. Lo."

"You gotta take St. Lo to take Valognes."

"Valognes you got Cherbourg."

"Cherbourg you got Paris."

"Paris you got Berlin."

"And then that big boat home." Miller finished as the two captains talked in the front of the line.

"We sure as hell could use you down here but I understand what you're doing."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I got a couple of brothers myself."

"Oh."

"Good luck."

"Thank you."

"No I mean it. Find him. Get him home."

Hamill left after that, leaving the squad to follow Miller to the church where they would be bunking for a few hours of rest before heading out again, this time to hopefully find Ryan.

This mission had had too many disappointments already.

First Caparzo dying, next finding out that they had come all this way for the wrong man.

It didn't seem fair, that Caparzo had died for a man who might not even still be breathing. But it was war, and they had to follow orders, until the last breath left their bodies.

* * *

TBC


	4. Trail of Breadcrumbs

**Author's Note: **Next corrected chapter will be up later today.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Saving Private Ryan

* * *

The old church was dark and gloomy. It had taken damage during the bombing, but compared to the rest of the surrounding buildings was in decent condition. Henderson and the rest of the men were scattered in the lower part of the building, stretching out wherever they could find a comfortable looking bench or bit of floor. Wade was sitting up with a flashlight, trying to rewrite Caparzo's bloodstained letter. The Captain and Horvath were sitting together in another part of the church, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, occasionally laughing. They were too far away for Henderson to discern what they were saying, but he was starting to doze off so he didn't try to pay attention to them.

"I don't know how he does it." Henderson glanced up from his spot on the floor at Reiban's comment.

"What's that?" Mellish asked, following Reiban's gaze to Jackson's sleeping form.

"Falls asleep like that. I mean look at him," Reiban continued, nodding his head towards Jackson as the rest of the group looked over. "The guy's lights out the minute his head hits the pack."

"Clear conscience."

"Yeah, what's he say? If God's on our side, who the hell could be on theirs?" Mellish snorted as Reiban stopped talking.

"If God be for us, who could be against us?" Upham corrected him quietly as he stared at the dimly lit wall.

"Yeah and what'd I say?" Reiban sounded annoyed at the correction.

"Well actually, the trick to falling asleep is trying to stay awake." Wade spoke for the first time, still tediously copying down the blotchy words.

"How's that?"

"Well when my mother was an intern she used to um...work late through the night, sleep through the day. So the only time we ever got to talk about anything was when she'd get home. So what I used to do, I used to lie on my bed and try to stay awake as long as I could but it never worked cuz the harder I'd try the faster I'd fall asleep." Wade chuckled slightly as he finished talking.

"Well that wouldn't have mattered none at my house. My mom, she would come home, shook me awake, chatted me up till dawn. I swear that woman was never too tired to talk."

"It was probably the only time she could ever get a word in." Mellish said, ribbing Reiban as he lit a cigarette.

"The only thing is, sometimes she would come home early and I'd pretend to be asleep."

"Who, your mom?"

"Yeah. She'd stand in the doorway looking at me and I'd just keep my eyes shut. I knew she just wanted to find out about my day so she came home early just to talk to me. And I still wouldn't move. I'd still pretend to just be asleep. I don't know why I did that."

All the men, even Reiban remained silent after Wade stopped speaking. As they were just sitting there in the silence, Captain Miller walked over to them.

"We've got a couple hours. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"Captain. Sir?" Upham called quietly to Miller as he stood next to Wade.

"Corporal? How you doing there? You all right?" Miller asked as he sat next to Upham.

"Yeah, I think this is all good for me, sir."

"Really. How is that?" Miller sounded slightly skeptical.

"War educates the senses, calls into action the will, perfects the physical constitution, brings men into such swift and close collision in critical moments that man measures man."

"Well, I guess that's Emerson's way of finding the bright side."

"You know Emerson, sir?"

"I know some."

"So where you from captain? What did you do before war?"

"What's the pool up to?"

"Up over three hundred, sir."

"Well when it gets up to five hundred I'll give you the answers and we'll split the money. How about that?"

"Well if that's the way you feel sir, I feel that it's my duty and your command to suggest that we wait until it gets up to a thousand sir."

"And what if we don't live that long?" That seemed to stump both men for a few seconds.

"Five hundred."

"Five hundred would be good, yeah. Get some sleep Corporal." Miller ordered as he stood up and walked off.

"Yes sir."

Henderson turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, hoping to get in a few hours of shut-eye before they were on the move again. He drifted off, listening to the faint sounds of bombs causing more destruction, and the louder, more annoying noise of Mellish snoring.

* * *

A little over an hour later Henderson was up again. Try as he might, sleep would not return so he carefully stood and made his way quietly to the door so as not to wake his companions.

It had finally stopped raining, though water still dripped off the eaves of the building. Light flashed in the distant sky. It could have been thunder, more likely it was artillery.

Henderson sat on the steps of the church, leaning his back against the wall and staring out at that lighted sky.

A voice behind him made him jump, and he stayed tense as Reiban followed him out of the door and sat beside him.

"Y'know, when the Captain says sleep he don't mean for ya to go out and watch the fireworks."

"Can't sleep, and you're one to talk."

Reiban shrugged and joined him on the steps. "How old are you anyway?"

"I'll be 20 in three weeks." Henderson told him. "Helluva place to spend a birthday."

Reiban nodded. "You got any siblings?"

"Yeah, two older brothers. Ned's in the Air Force and Tommy's in the Navy."

"They the reason you joined up?"

"I suppose. I've always tried to do whatever they did. Broke m'arm, knocked out m'teeth, who knows how many concussions. Now I'm here. Ma thinks I'm her little baby, she'll kill me when, if, I get home."

"Didn't tell her you joined?"

"Nah, the woman would've chained me up in the basement. What about you?"

"Three younger sisters."

"That must be rough."

"Yeah, if I don't make it through this damned war whose gonna kill the boys who break their hearts?"

The two lapsed into silence.

"Com'on kid. If any of us needs sleep it's you, you're hardly more than a stick."

Henderson followed him back into the church to wait.

* * *

The squad started out before daybreak. The only light came from distant exploding bombs as they trekked through the French countryside.

Later that day they were still walking, this time through a more forested area, when they came upon a downed allied aircraft. On the other side of the wreck, wounded men were lined up on the ground and unhurt officers were shouting orders and yelling for medics.

"Wade!" Miller called as the squad filed through the plane and entered the turbulent campsite.

"Yes sir."

"See what you can do. Hold on fellas, it won't be much longer."

Wade was immediately down with the wounded, trying to see if he could do anything for them.

"How are we doing here. All right, yeah you're all right so don't worry about it. The doc's in town." Wade told the wounded men as he got out some bandages.

"Don't worry fellas. 29th infantry's breakin through. They'll be here soon." Jackson said as he tried to make one of the guys more comfortable.

"Cap'n, hey cap'n." One of the men called out to Miller.

"Soldier, you wanna fill me in?"

"Hey yeah, Lieutenant Dewidt, sir. Ninety-ninth Troop Carrier Squadron, carrying the 327th glider infantry. This one was mine, sir. I was the pilot."

"Private, private take care of this one here." Wade's voice carried over that of the Lieutenant.

"Twenty-two men dead. I ended up over there without a scratch, took my co-pilot's head right off."

"Well where's the unit? Who are these people?"

"Well the guys we came in with sir, they headed off first night. I haven't seen em since. Meantime, other guys just keep showin' up. One, two, half a dozen at a time. Then some officer will come along, patch together a mixed unit and head off to make trouble, sir."

"We're looking for a Private James Ryan. He was in Baker Company five oh six in the hundred and first."

"Got me, sir. A lot of guys come in and out of here, sir."

"Upham!" Miller called the Corporal over.

"Yes, sir."

"Check that squad. See if Ryan's in."

"Yes, sir." Upham said, as he headed over to the squad Miller had pointed out.

"Reiben? Smell that leg right there. Find out if it's smells of cheese." Reiban gave Wade a look as he knelt to smell the man's leg.

"What?" Wade asked as Reiban came back up.

Reiban merely nodded in reply.

Henderson looked up from his position next to Wade. Mellish was taunting the German prisoners with his Star of David, telling them that he was Jewish as he passed.

Miller, Horvath, and Dewindt were heading towards the wreckage of the plane.

"Yeah I couldn't pry him outta there hard as I tried. I need a winch."

"Stars." Horvath told Miller as he took a closer look at the body.

"Yep. Brigadier General Amend. Deputy Commander hundred and first. Some fucking genius had the great idea of welding a couple of steel plates onto our deck to keep the general safe from ground fire. Unfortunately, they forgot to tell me about it until we were just getting airborne. Well that's like trying to fly a fright train. Okay? Gross overload, trim characteristics all shot to hell. I nearly broke both my arms trying to get her level. And, and, and when we released, you know, I cut as hard as I could. Tried to gain and some altitude, still keep her from stalling. We came down like a fucking meteor. And this is how we ended up. The oth...the others, they stopped easy enough okay though, you know. We were just, we were just, we were just too damn heavy, you know? The grass was wet, downward slope and all. Twenty two guys dead." Dewidt wound down as he and Miller stood inside the wreckage, the rest of the squad looking in the windows.

"All that for a general?"

"One man."

"A lot of that going around." Reiban commented, adding his two cents.

"Fubar."

"Fubar."

"Fubar."

"Fubar."

"Y'all got that right." Jackson said quietly.

"Hey, I looked up fubar in the German Dictionary. There's no fubar in the-" Upham began, effectively destroying the mood.

"Upham?"

"Yes, sir?"

"There's more paratroops out there. Find out if one of them's Ryan."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh you might wanna check these out, sir. Dogtags. More than I really wanna count, sir. I've got covered a lot of bodies, sir."

"Jackson. Start going through those."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll help." Reiban said, following the sniper.

"Well what do you think, Jackson? You think that little pricks in there?" Reiban asked, grabbing the bag of dogtags out of Jackson's hands.

"Well if he is, I'm gonna find him." Jackson replied, taking the bag back.

"I bid money saying this guy is still alive."

"Ten bucks says I nail him first." Mellish cut in as he sat down.

"Let's see what we got here. Okay, you think this little shitbird's in here or what?"

"Just keep looking."

"All right. Gary Ananago. Vin Almarcio. Mike Suzeski. I swear, all the guinies are buyin it."

Dogtag after dogtag fell onto the makeshift table, the piles growing larger by the second. Even Captain Miller had joined the search.

"Where is this son of a bitch?"

"Don't mix em up Jackson, all right? Keep em in your own fucking pile. How am I supposed to know who we got?"

"Why don't you just shut up Reiben, all right?"

"Everybody be friends."

"I think I got a winner." Jackson said as he rubbed some dried blood off a tag.

"What are you talkin about?"

"Ryan."

"Ryan. You know what? You're a genius, you really are. R-I-E-N-N-E. That's Rienne, that's French, all right? You know what that means?"

Henderson watched Wade as he stood up, wiping some of the blood from his stained hands. He had a scowl on his face as he stalked towards the rest of their squad.

"What the hell are you doing? The whole goddamn airborne's watching. They aren't poker chips. Put em back in there!"

The men sat in ashamed silence as they watched the soldiers filing past, some looking over at them.

"He's not here. Maybe we should bust up into a couple of different groups, huh? And wander the woods like Hansel and Gretel calling his name. He's bound to hear us sooner or later. Ryan!"

"That might be a little hard to do, cap'n."

"Maybe the locals have seen him. Hey do you know a...excusez moi, parlez vous Ryan? James Ryan? Ryan! Anybody know Ryan? 101st airborne? Ryan? You know a guy named Ryan? Private James Ryan from Iowa? Anybody know a Ryan? James Ryan?"

"Hey Joe! Doesn't...ah...Michaelson pal around with a Ryan from C Company?" One of the soldiers said as he stopped a moment.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Well bring him up here, would ya?"

The soldier, Joe, ran towards the back of the line looking for Michaelson. He returned a few minutes with another man.

"Do you know a Private Ryan?" Miller asked as the two men reached him.

"You're gonna have to speak up, sir. My hearing isn't so good. It comes and goes. A German grenade went off right by my head." Michaelson said loudly, bringing his hand up to his ear.

"Got it, got it. Do you know Private Ryan?"

"Who?"

"Private Ryan? James Ryan?"

"Jimmy Ryan?"

"James. James Francis Ryan."

"No, no, no. James Francis Ryan."

"All right. Give me a pencil. Something to write on. Something to write on. Some...quick, quick come on, a pencil."

"Small one, sir." Upham said, fishing out a pencil stub.

"Write this down. James Francis Ryan, question mark. Iowa, question mark. Do, do you know him? Does he know him? Read the message, look."

"Yeah of course I know him, sir."

"Does he know where he is?"

Upham hurriedly wrote down the question and showed it to the man.

"Yeah, yeah. We missed our drop zone by about twenty miles. Ended up way over by uh...Bumville or some damn place. Him, me and a couple other guys were coming here to the rally point. Ran into a colonel who was gathering men to go to uh...Ramelle."

"Ramelle."

"To baby-sit a bridge. That's the last I've seen of him, sir."

"Great, great. Than, thank you. Write thank you. Read, read and thank you."

"Your welcome!"

Miller and the rest of the squad walked forward a bit to a place a bit out of the way of the walking soldiers.

"Assemble around me." The Captain said, kneeling on the ground and pulling out a map. "Ramelle...we're here. There. Ramelle is on the Merderet River right here. This is southwest of us."

"What, do you think this was the bridge he was talking about, cap'n?"

"Yep. The target has always been Cherbourg. We can't push no Paris until we take in deep water port and Rommell knows that so he's gonna try to get his armor across the Merderet river any where he can. That way, he can hit our invasion forces in flank when we make the big right turn to Cherbourg. That makes any village on that river, with an intact bridge, solid gold real estate."

Miller's hand was shaking as he held his compass over the map. The men fell silent as they noticed it and looked at their Captain. Miller stared back tensely before closing the metal device with a snap.

"Let's go."

* * *

TBC


	5. Blood and Answers and Questions

**Author's Note:** There were a few changes to this one, the next one will be a bit more apparent

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Saving Private Ryan

* * *

Miller's squad walked on until nightfall and then stopped for a few hours, camping out under the stars. They resumed their course, towards Ramelle, in the early hours of the next morning, once again before the sun rose. They kept walking throughout the day, on and on. Even Reiban had ceased making crude remarks and failed attempts at conversation.

Suddenly the men in the front ducked down, so the rest of the line followed suit, there were three bodies, allies, a few yards away.

Miller ducked into the underbrush and continued along the fence line before stopping and crouching once more, taking out his binoculars as he did so.

"What the hell is that?" Horvath asked quietly, looking at the rectangular mass of metal that stood across the field.

"A radar site. It's gotta be outta action. Well, it looks like we've got something in that. Sandbag bunker right under the station."

"I don't see it."

"Yeah." Miller muttered, pointing in its direction.

"Bunkers too." Horvath added as Miller turned to head back to the rest of the squad.

"What is it?" Upham asked when Miller rejoined them

"Machine gun. Called an MG-42."

"Jesus. Get a look at those guys? Maybe one of them's our boy." Mellish said, gesturing at the mutilated bodies.

"Nah, the patches are 82nd so your lucks not that good."

"Yeah, well I don't know how fast the rest of you betties are, but I'm thinking we detour this way, quick and fast. The Krauts will never even know we were here. So captain, what I'm trying to say is why don't we just go around the thing?"

* * *

Henderson threw himself to the ground behind a scrawny bush, adrenaline flooding his system.

The noise seemed to be swirling around Henderson's ears as he ducked behind the minute shelter; his squad-mates shouting for cover, the hiss of bullets as they flew past, the thuds as men hit the ground in an effort to escape the deadly rain, and the peppering of lead as it pelted into the dirt.

When they had come upon the Nazi-controlled radar tower, the majority of the men, Henderson included, had tried to dissuade Captain Miller from attacking. Their mission wasn't to knock out a German machine gun nest; it was to rescue that bastard, Ryan. Miller, however, had been insistent, and now they were all involved in the mess.

Henderson's heart rate shot up at the German gunner came close to hitting him once again, the spray of bullets swiping the ground near his head.

They had burst out of their cover, and immediately the damn Nazi's had opened fire, trying to mow them down.

Grenades had been tossed, but the shooting continued. Huge, billowing clouds of dust had risen from the blasts, making it difficult to find the Germans, and luckily making it difficult for the Germans to hit their targets.

Henderson darted up again before the smoke cleared; he was a little ways away from Wade as the two advanced towards the radar tower.

Everything suddenly seemed to come to a standstill as something slammed into his body with enough force to drive him back several feet. He looked down at his chest, which suddenly felt wet and watched with an almost stunned look on his face as a thick, scarlet liquid began staining the front of his fatigues. He looked up once more. It was as if the world had slowed down; he couldn't seem to discern any distinct noises except the faint whizzing of bullets and shouting, lots of shouting. Henderson blinked, trying to focus, trying to figure out what was happening.

The sudden realization of a white-hot pain in his chest and someone shouting his name, it sounded like Wade, brought him out of his dazed state.

Henderson winced, squeezing his eyes shut, as his legs finally gave out and he collapsed with a groan, falling towards the ground before he was suddenly caught be a pair of strong arms and gently lowered the rest of the way.

* * *

The shooting had stopped, but something was wrong. Upham could faintly hear Wade shouting for his med kit, so he jumped up from his position behind a dead cow. He ran up the field with Wade's heavy packs as the rest of the men, aside from those who were finishing the Germans, also headed towards Wade's crouched form.

Jackson reached Wade first, followed by Captain Miller and Sergeant Horvath, and finally Upham. Reiban and Mellish were still busy with the Krauts.

As soon as Upham was close enough, Wade reached up and grabbed his gear, quickly searching through it while trying to keep an eye on his fallen comrade.

"How bad is it?" Miller asked, as he and the rest of the men stared down at Henderson's jerking body. Wade was trying to keep him still, stop the blood flow, and rifle though his packs all at the same time.

"He's lost a lot of blood."

That much was obvious to anyone with eyes. The red stain was spreading quickly down Henderson's fatigues and he was getting paler.

"And?"

Wade sighed, it was obvious he was struggling to stay in control while one of the group was lying there, possibly dying, and the rest were crowded around asking stupid questions.

"Look, all I know is that he was hit under his collarbone, left side, and that he is bleeding profusely, other than that I don't know much more than you except that he will die if I don't get working now!"

"All right, I'm sorry." Miller said, trying to pacify the agitated medic. "We'll be nearby if you need us."

"Jackson, you stay and hold him down." Wade ordered as he found some sulfur and bandages.

As the rest of the men walked a short distance away, Wade concentrated all of his attention on saving Henderson. He had failed Caparzo in Nueville, he wasn't going to let the new kid die as well.

Henderson had finally stopped his erratic moving, now he was just lying there, his breathing starting to become shaky. Wade cursed to himself as he began stripping off Henderson's field gear before attacking his outer layer of clothing. Once the thicker top was out of the way, the extent of the damage was more obvious. A hole had been blasted right through the kid's chest, and if not for the continuous flow of blood, Wade probably would have been able to see right through him. As it was, Henderson was losing more blood by the second. The front of the thinner undershirt was completely soaked, and the thick, irony-smelling liquid, was beginning to run down his arm as it continued pooling from the wound.

"Oh God." Wade didn't know how Henderson was going to survive the blood loss, let alone the wound.

Wade pulled a small knife out of his boot. There was no other way to get the shirt off safely, without causing more blood to gush out, if that were possible, plus it was pretty useless now any way. He quickly slit the shirt from top to bottom before peeling the sticky material away from the private's prone body.

Wade suddenly stopped in confusion, his brow furrowed, as he looked at Henderson. There appeared to already be bandages on the young private's torso. Wade scowled; if there was another injury that Henderson hadn't told him about he would skin him alive. The medic continued pulling off the soiled undershirt. He stopped again, his fingers frozen. This time both his and Jackson's eyes widened. 'Oh'.

* * *

Captain Miller looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. By then, Reiban and Mellish had returned, along with a German prisoner who the men were glaring at when they weren't glancing over towards Wade's hunched form as he tried to save Henderson. None of them would admit it, but they were all growing attached to the quiet sharpshooter.

Wade was now walking towards them, blood literally dripping from his hands. He jerked his head to the side, and Miller, understanding the gesture, followed.

"Well?" The Captain asked when Wade remained silent.

"Henderson was hit in the upper torso, left side," Wade began, repeating what he'd told the Captain before, "Fortunately it was a clean hit, went through and exited." Here he paused a moment.

"Unfortunately, it hit too close to the heart, causing too much blood loss."

"And?"

"I've managed to stabilize him, but it's highly likely he won't make it. From the entrance wound alone he bled a tremendous amount, and he was bleeding from the front and the back."

Miller grimaced, putting his hands behind his back as he stared at the ground. Already he had lost a man, and now he was more than likely losing another. This Ryan had better be damn important.

"Captain," Wade was speaking again, he sounded slightly wary. "There's something you need to know."

Miller looked up and raised an eyebrow at Wade's tone. He seemed fidgety and nervous, not at all like the calm, occasionally frustrated medic he normally was.

Wade began walking back to Henderson and Jackson, obviously wanting the Captain to follow.

The medic stopped beside the still-body, waiting for Miller to catch up.

"What is it Wade?"

Wade pointed down at the Private.

"What about him Wade?"

Wade fidgeted again before exhaling noisily and bending down, pulling the blood soaked garment off of Henderson's small body.

Miller stared down at the pale figure of the youngest member of the team. He was much more delicate than he'd led them to believe. Henderson had a very narrow waist, leading to a thin frame, and…no, that wasn't possible, there was no way in hell, but it, they, what?

Wade waited patiently as he watched a myriad of emotions cross his commander's face. The Captain was obviously having trouble processing this new, revelation.

* * *

The rest of the squad watched as Captain Miller continuously paced back and forth, occasionally bringing his hands to his head, after his short conversation with Wade.

They waited until Wade made it over, Jackson had been left in charge of watching the boy, before surrounding him and barraging him with questions. The medic wearily brushed them off, muttering that they'd find out later. He was still clutching Henderson's shirt as he sat down across from where Mellish was guarding the prisoner.

"That's a lot of blood." Reiban commented, staring at the remains of the military garment.

"Yeah, it is." Wade agreed after a moment.

He dropped the bloody piece of clothing and winced, along with the rest of the men when it made a wet, sloshing sound as it hit the dirt.

"Is he gonna be alright?" Upham asked quietly, posing the question nobody wanted to ask, but everyone wanted to know the answer to.

Wade was silent for a bit before replying.

"I don't know, I just don't know."

* * *

TBC


	6. For the Best

**Author's Note:** Just one more chapter to revise and then onto the new chapter

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Saving Private Ryan

* * *

Reiban stared moodily at the freshly dug grave. The dark, rich earth that mounded over the top was still slightly damp; the misshapen cross, made from two spindly sticks and one of the German's shoelaces, stuck up from the head, looking lonely and morose in the early morning light.

A sudden violent bout of coughing turned his attention, and that of several of his companions, to the sight of Wade's ever-diligent silhouette as he kneeled beside the shaking figure of the downed man of their team. Man, no, he couldn't use that term when talking about Private Jesse Henderson. Not anymore. He didn't even know if he could call him Private. Reiban scowled. There he went again. The truth just couldn't seem to penetrate his thick skull.

He heard Wade curse as he tried to hold Henderson's thin frame against the ground. The horrible coughs that racked his, no, her body had accompanied the fever that had set in as a result of blood loss and infection. Wade had been up all night, as had the rest of them, tending to her as she barely clung to life. The rest of the team were in various stages of shock after Captain Miller had broke the news. Mellish rambling to himself, Jackson, who had discovered her secret when Wade had, was staring off into the distance, part watchful, part silent contemplation, and Upham being his usual idiotic self and spending the night asking questions with a dropped jaw. The truth had been astounding; it just wasn't possible. How could a girl have kept up with a group of soldiers on a trek across France, or out shot everyone save Jackson, hell, how could a girl have survived Omaha Beach? The facts just didn't add up.

Earlier that morning they had forced the captured Nazi to dig a grave for the dead Americans they had discovered at the end of the field. And then Miller had let the fiend go. Just like that. The squad, excluding Upham had been outraged; girl or not, Henderson was most likely dying, and a painful death at that, because of that Nazi son'uv a bitch.

Reiban didn't know whether to feel angry, sad, worried, confused, or a mixture of all of them. The fact that she had lied to them the entire time hurt; they were supposed to be a team. Of course no one had asked the lanky young private if he was in fact a he, but it was just something they had assumed. The blood-bathed shores of France was not a sight frequented by American women these days. She was deranged, reckless, foolhardy, and one of the bravest people he had ever known. He spat on the ground and rubbed his head, of all the things that could happen to his squad in the middle of France during the war of the century.

* * *

Across from Reiban, Jackson was sitting, also thinking about a certain Private. He had noticed something off about him from the beginning; the separate relief breaks, the constant quietness, the slight isolation. He had attributed it to the kid being shy. The truth turned out to be quite different. A girl. She was a damn girl. Somehow that made the situation so much worse. When Henderson had been just 'the kid', they had all been worried, more so than they would admit; somehow along the way they had all become a bit attached to the shy kid, with his quiet understanding and friendly nature. Now that he was really a she, well he wasn't sure what to think. Henderson had always seemed a bit fragile, having such a young face and slender form. Now, instead of brittle steel, the Private seemed to be made of delicate glass. Her small face was pale and covered with a sheen of sweat. Jackson felt guilty, for not realizing it sooner, for not killing the Germans fast enough, for not protecting her.

When Wade had cut open her blood-ridden shirt and revealed the bindings wrapped tightly around her torso, hiding the fact that she was a girl, well he hadn't wanted to believe it. Her terrified grey eyes had stared up at him as her body convulsed, not knowing that the secret was out. Other than paling drastically Wade hadn't seemed to care that she wasn't a man, he had kept on with trying to save her, reddening quite a bit when he was forced to replace the slightly dirty bindings with fresh bandages in an attempt to keep the wound clean. Jackson had looked away of course, a Southern gentlemen at heart. Both men had panicked when she stopped struggling against Jackson's hands, falling still, her eyes, which had been either wide open or tightly clenched in pain had relaxed, her head falling limply to the side. Wade had worked even faster than before, his hands stained red and sweat dripping down his face as her body began to fail from blood loss. They had finally stabilized her, but she remained still. Wade hadn't dared give her morphine, afraid it would be too much for her drastically weakened body.

The devoutly religious Southerner mumbled a few prayers under his breath and fiddled with the safety on his rifle. Captain Miller's form passed through his line of sight. The Captain had taken it rather badly, as had the rest of them. He had been in charge of the squad, and now, one was dead and one perhaps fatally wounded, and a female to boot. Jackson glanced down briefly before looking back up. What would happen to her? Most likely she would be dishonorably discharged. If she died would she even be buried with the rest of her unit, and if she lived, what would be the consequences? Of course, Miller probably didn't have to turn her in, but Miller was a good solider, and Jackson had a feeling that his steadfast sense of duty would force his hand.

Jackson glanced over at Wade and Henderson. Still no apparent change. He worried that they would have to leave soon, and not be able to take the sick girl with them.

* * *

Wade grunted as the girl beside him threw herself upward again, the coughing causing her body to jerk about. The fit subsided and he lightly brushed the back of his hand against her slick forehead. Still too hot. He frowned and checked the bandages, wrapped securely around her entire torso and covered with his field jacket in attempt to protect her modesty. Not that it would matter if she died.

The young Medic wet one of his clean clothes with water from his canteen and laid it gently across her head, trying to lower her fever. He had already lost Caparzo, by God he was not going to lose her too. He had been up all night, doing his best to keep her breathing and to ward off the imminent infection. But at last it had claimed her, and now he could do nothing but keep her stable and hope her stubbornness won out.

He brushed some of her short hair out of her face. It was amazing that none of them had noticed before. Now that he really looked at her, she looked far more feminine, and was actually quite pretty, he was surprised that he hadn't suspected it from the start. But then, she was quite good at disguising herself, and none of them had actually been looking for a woman amongst them.

She began coughing again, her eyes fluttering under their lids, her breath shallow and shaky. He was worried, they all were. It seemed as though she was losing what was perhaps her final battle.

Approaching footsteps made Wade glance up. Miller was approaching, a grim expression on his face. He crouched on the other side of her body.

"Any change."

Wade shook his head, locking his jaw, he knew what was coming.

Miller sighed and looked around at his men. "I know that this is going to be difficult, but we need to get moving, we've wasted enough time as it is. If she's still unconscious at dusk, we move on. Understood?"

Wade clenched his fists. "Yes sir." He said softly. "But sir, you mean to just leave her here, have her die a long, drawn out death, or be found by some Jerry's and..." He didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.

Miller looked uncomfortable. "If it comes to that I suppose we can give her an overdose of morphine. I'm sorry, I don't like it any more than you."

"I know sir."

Miller stood, gazing down at her. "It's for the best."

* * *

TBC


	7. Waking Up

**Author's Note:** I'm back! Boy, school is tough this year!

Language Warning: As usual, soldiers don't seem to mind cursin

Disclaimer: I do not, in any way or fashion, own the rights to Saving Private Ryan. I own my OC and some of the plot.

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Pain. That was what had woken her up. Or was it the cold? She wasn't sure.

She kept her eyes tightly closed as her mind slowly awoke from its pain-induced unconsciousness. She was cold, her body shuddering as she lay on the hard ground, wrapped in someone's blanket. Something course and damp had been placed on her forehead; she could feel the occasional droplet of liquid run down her face as it escaped from the cloth.

Someone was beside her, his rough hand resting briefly on her cheek before trailing down to her neck, checking her pulse. She wanted to reach out, to say something, but her mouth would not open and her arm was too heavy.

The grass nearby rustled and crunched as one of the others approached. He stopped beside her. She could feel his eyes on her face. He began to speak and she tried to listen, but his voice was difficult to place.

"How much longer do we have?"

That voice was closer, the man sitting beside her. It was probably Wade, but she wasn't sure.

"A few hours at the most. Can't tell how close to dark it is, fuckin overcast sky."

The man standing. She couldn't distinguish the voice.

"Is she any better?" Something about that question bothered her, seemed wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

A sigh came from beside her.

"No."

"Damn."

More footsteps, this time going away from her. She tried to move, to let the worried medic know she was awake. Nothing. Her body felt as though it were made of stone. She tried to open her eyes, but they remained closed. She was trapped in the unmoving shell of her body.

Wade's warm hand grasped her frozen one. She tried harder to move, putting what was left of her strength towards that one purpose. There! Her hand moved, clenched his in a tight grip before falling lax again. If her eyes had been open they would have suddenly shut, but they were not, and so only the renewed limpness of her body signaled that she was once again drifting away into the dark recess of her mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- -- - -- - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- -- - -- - -- - - - -- - - - - - -

Wade turned back to the girl's still body as Reiban walked away. The Brooklyn native getting more irate as the hours passed, and Henderson's fate grew closer. The medic couldn't blame him, or the others.

He frowned and slipped one of his hands into the girl's hand that was nearest to him, lightly holding the small appendage, trying not to jar her body.

'Please.' He thought, willing her to pull through. 'Please wake up.' Even as a medic, Wade wasn't normally this sentimental, but this was different, this girl, who was young enough to be a little sister was one of his squad mates, she was family. He was about to let go when he felt a sudden, tight pressure on his hand. Eyes widening, he look down; her hand was clenched tightly around his before going limp in his grasp once more. He felt elated. It wasn't much, but she was still there.

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She woke up again. She had lost conscious some time before, maybe an hour, maybe two. Wade was still beside her; she could feel the warmth from his body. She felt a bit better, stronger. She tried opening her eyes. The clenched lids only let up a bit, allowing the smallest traces of light to filter onto her corneas. She squinted as best she could. Grays, greens, and other murky color filled her vision. Ah, the wonderful and predicable French countryside; she didn't know how the Frenchies stood it, never seemed to change after all, always either raining, about to rain, or threatening to rain. Her eyes flicked to the side. Wade was beside her still. She wondered briefly if he had moved at all since she had been there, however long that was.

This time she tried to speak. It came out as a mixture of a croak and a gurgle. How pleasant. Wade jumped and was immediately trying to hover over her and grab his canteen at the same time, which would have been an amusing sight if not for the situation.

"Captain!" Wade called as he fumbled with the top of the canteen.

Miller looked up from across the field. He glanced around at the suddenly alert men beside him before pushing himself to his feet and striding quickly towards Wade.

The medic was carefully pouring a trickle of water into the Private's mouth as the Captain drew nearer.

"Easy does it." Wade muttered, ever so slightly raising Henderson's head so that she wouldn't choke. "There you go."

Miller peered down at the pale girl as he reached them. She greedily sucked in the droplets that made it to her dry lips, her eyes barely open.

Wade glanced up at his Captain. "She's awake." A wan smile crossing his face as he carefully held her thin frame.

Miller nodded gruffly. "Try and get her ready for travel. You've got 2 hours." The captain looked down at her one more time, relaxing a bit as he met her bleary gaze, before turning around and heading back to the other men who wanted to know what was going on.

Wade focused on her once again as Miller's steps faded away. He shifted his arm, wrapping it more securely around her shoulders and trying to raise her up a bit without causing too much discomfort.

More footsteps, lighter than Millers, were approaching. Wade glanced up briefly to see Jackson, the sharpshooter gazing down at Henderson with a thoughtful expression on his face as he crouched on her other side.

"How is she?" He asked in a soft voice, his pronounced southern drawl accenting it as always.

"She's got a better chance. Here hold this." Wade said as he passed the canteen to Jackson who took it carefully and continued to let water trickle out.

Her eyes opened a bit more, looking around a bit before finally focusing on Wade and Jackson.

"Hey there." Jackson welcomed quietly, grinning softly as she tried to smile at him.

Wade suddenly took the canteen back before turning to Jackson again.

"We need to sit her up, give me a hand."

The two men carefully supported her on her back and slowly raised her up until she was sitting, albeit a bit unsteadily, leaning against Jackson for support.

She seemed a bit dizzy for a minute before looking up at Wade who was re-adjusting the blanket. Suddenly something clicked. They had been calling her 'she' and 'her'. She paled a bit more, eyes darting between the two before she glanced down.  
'Oops.'

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**Author's Note:** Well, there's another chapter. I had to squeeze it in with all of my school work, so I hope it's up to par. Tell me what you thought!


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